![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Fic: Hey Teacher (Or How Dean Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Detention)
Title: Hey Teacher (Or How Dean Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Detention)
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
robin1618 and unamaga
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,094
Disclaimer: We own nothing, blah, blah, playthings, blah, blah, cake.
Notes: This is part of a bigger high school AU, called Life Lessons, that Robin and I are working on in which Dean is a chemistry teacher and Sam seduces him. Trust us, you'll like it. Dean wears a labcoat.
And then there's the time Sam gets put in detention.
Dean’s waiting outside the Principal's office, wanting to talk about next week's schedule, when Sam comes walking by, Sarah in tow. He sees Dean standing there, gives him a single deadpan stare, and then wheels around and punches a guy walking the other way right in the gut.
The kid doubles up, yelling, and the Principal comes rushing out of his office. He sends Sam straight to detention, of course, which Dean just happens to be taking that day. As Sam is led away he looks back at Dean and winks at him, slow and deliberate. Sarah laughs and then heads off to class.
There's only one other kid there when Dean turns up—Charlie Scott, who's never been what you might call observant. He's got his iPod on, loud, listening to Britney Spears—don't ask. Sam's sitting in the front row of desks, his tie coming undone and his hair messy, shooting these looks at Dean over the top of his school books that makes Dean forget all about the marking he's supposed to be doing.
“Sir,” Sam says innocently, ten minutes into the detention, “could you help me with a problem?”
Without waiting for an answer, Sam’s next to Dean at the front desk, all seductive body language and cocked hips. It’s enough to have Dean hard under the desk—not that he hadn’t already been, just watching Sam sit across the aisle as that sinful mouth innocuously sucked on a pen cap.
A heavy chemistry book plunks down on the desk in front of Dean’s face, opened to a random page he doesn’t think they’ve even covered yet. Sam points to something on the fifth line with that same pen, still shiny with his spit, and Dean has to clench his fingers in his trouser legs or do something unforgivable like rip Sam’s pants down and suck him off right there.
“It’s this one,” Sam whispers, husky and low, from where’s he’s hunkered down next to Dean on his knees. He’s not looking at the text book.
“Sam, we can’t,” Dean protests weakly, but Sam’s hand is already trailing feather-light up from his knee to his inner thigh.
“So, if the atomic masses of carbon and oxygen are 12 and 16, the formula mass of CO2 is 44, am I right, sir?” Sam asks, his hand pressing against Dean’s cock with every word.
“Yes,” Dean whispers, clutching at his desk. “You’re right, Sammy. Very, very, very right, and I—”
Sam reaches up and twines one long bony hand around Dean’s own, while the other—Dean gasps and snaps the pencil he’s holding—flicks his zip open. Then Sam picks up the pen from where it’s lying and, with one wicked glance up at Dean, opens his fingers and drops it on the floor.
“Oh dear, sir, I seem to have dropped my pen,” Sam says. “I’d better look for it,” and his head bobs down into Dean’s lap.
Dean bites his own lip bloody trying to stay quiet when Sam mouths him through his cotton boxer-briefs. He can feel the sly smirk curving those lips, and Sam is so obviously pleased with himself, Dean can’t make his hands shove Sam away.
Okay, so maybe that’s not the reason, but—
“Shit,” Dean hisses as Sam’s tongue finds the slit in his underwear and slips inside. One of Sam’s huge hands comes up and pushes his thighs apart farther, while the other finally pulls Dean fully out of his underwear.
“Careful,” Sam says, pulling back to look Dean in the eye. “Wouldn’t want Mister Spears over there wondering where I’ve gone and why you’re making those faces.”
Dean clenches his jaw, about to shoot back something witty, but then Sam’s mouth is around the head of his cock and he can’t even remember what they were talking about.
It doesn’t make things any easier that Dean has to stay so fucking quiet. Here’s this kid doing the most incredible things to him, and he has to sit still and look straight ahead and act bored. Dean’s only just realizing how difficult this is going to be. He tangles his fist in Sam’s thick hair and bites down on his lower lip. Think of chemistry equations. Think of detention. Think of Sam’s tongue as he curls it around a pencil in class. Think of Sam’s wide mouth right fucking now. Oh god.
Sam’s mouth rolls slowly down Dean’s cock and he curses.
“Hah, Sammy, how are… how are you doing down there?” Dean asks, trying to seem normal, but with a shiver in his voice that’s anything but.
Sam pauses for a second and looks up at him.
“Oh, I think I’ve almost got it, sir,” he says, and he touches his tongue against Dean’s tip. It’s the thin trail of saliva left hanging between Sam’s tongue and his dick when Sam pulls back that finally clinches it.
He pushes the rolling chair back until it hits the wall with a loud crash. How loud is that kid’s music? Whatever—as long as he doesn’t look up while Dean is doing up his fly and yanking Sam out from under his desk, that’s fine. He marches Sam awkwardly from the desk to the supply closet, slamming it behind them.
And Sam’s laughing, the little bastard. Dean suddenly wishes he’d thought to bring his ruler with him to detention.
“What?” Sam taunts as soon as Dean finishes backing him up against the wall. “Too much for you, Professor?”
Dean growls, putting his hands on Sam’s shoulders and slamming them back so the vials on the shelves next to them rattle. “You are such a tease,” he says, and then he kisses Sam, hard like he’s wanted to since that punch in the hallway hours before.
Sam kisses back, even harder, and for a moment neither of them can be sure whether they’re making out or fighting. They stagger, and Sam slams Dean against a cabinet, making the papers on its top spill over and scatter all around them.
Dean tugs Sam’s tie loose and pulls his shirt open to run his tongue across the ridge of Sam’s collarbone. A button pops and Sam laughs. Dean presses the flat of his hand against his mouth to shut him up, and Sam nips at its palm, still grinning.
Then Dean’s scrabbling at Sam’s belt, half ashamed that he should need this quite as much as he does. His fingers stumble, and Sam helps him out. Even in the gloom of the supply closet Dean can see that Sam’s flushed, and they’re both panting.
By the time Dean manages to push Sam’s pants down to his knees and wriggle back out of his own, three bottles of chemicals have tipped over and four boxes of rubber gloves have found their way onto the floor. Dean nearly goes sprawling when he trips over one in his haste, but Sam catches him and they both end up somehow kneeling on the floor in front of each other.
Sam’s warm, rough hand closes around his cock again, and they’re face to face, lips touching every time one of them breathes. It’s almost enough, that very first pull, because Dean still remembers what Sam’s mouth felt like around him. His hips stutter forward, into Sam’s hand, the tip of his cock smearing across Sam’s stomach wetly.
“Look at you,” Sam says roughly, leaning into Dean. “Look at you like this—all sweaty and strung out.” He nips at Dean’s earlobe. “D’you want me?”
And that’s all it takes before Dean’s coming into Sam’s cupped hand, bowing forward with the force of his orgasm and trying really, really hard not to yell too loud.
“I guess that’s a yes, sir,” Sam says, and he lunges forward and kisses Dean on the mouth.
For a moment it occurs to Dean to be surprised at what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with, but then Sam grabs his hand and wraps it around his cock, and the world gets very hot and focused again.
He strokes his hand up and down Sam’s length, and Sam presses against him, his breath warm and damp against Dean’s neck.
“How do you like your detention, Sammy?” Dean mutters into Sam’s ear.
Sam shudders all over, gasping like this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Please,” he whimpers, shifting his hips into Dean’s grip with every stroke. “God, please, more.”
Dean takes that as an invitation and leans down to mouth along Sam’s skin. He finds a nipple with his tongue and circles around it until it’s a hard pebble and Sam’s hands are clenching at his sides. Not that he normally has a thing for virgins, but getting Sam like this, all flushed and out of control and pure, does things to him that it probably shouldn’t.
Above, he can hear Sam cursing up a storm as he speeds up his hand and bites down on that sweet, flat stomach. From the way those groans are rising in pitch, Sam knows what’s next.
“Gonna repay the favor,” Dean says, grinning like an imp and feeling like he’s maybe in control again for the first time since this whole thing started.
At least now he can say he’s being a teacher, although perhaps that joke’s in poor taste. Dean grabs hold of Sam’s hips and takes Sam’s cock into his mouth. Sam moans. The sound almost makes Dean hard again. Forgetting that they’re supposed to be quiet, he works faster, trying to make Sam’s cries louder.
“Sir,” Sam gasps, “Sir-”
God, how is the kid so damned sexy? Just the sound of his voice sends Dean into a haze of lust.
“Like that, do you?” he rasps, sliding his hands up Sam’s hips and round the small of his back. Sam grabs Dean’s hair with those huge hands of his and tilts back his head as his orgasm shoots through his body.
Sam slumps back against the shelves, panting. Dean runs his tongue up Sam’s belly, around his nipples and tracing his jaw before his lips meet Sam’s. They’re both grinning into the kiss.
“Thanks, sir,” Sam says, his mouth pressing against the hollow beneath Dean’s ear. “That really was a big help to me.”
“Glad I could be of service,” Dean replies, fighting down laughter. “If you ever need help again…”
“I think I know who to come to,” Sam finishes, teeth flashing white in the murky darkness. Dean’s mesmerized for a moment. Then, everything slams back into his brain and he realizes exactly where they are and what they’ve just done and, oh God, he could get worse than fired for this.
He scrambles back against the wall and tries to hike his pants up his legs with little success. His fingers are shaky and too big to get the button through the hole.
Sam’s hand comes down on top of his, warm and gentle. “Dean,” he says, using Dean’s given name like he never does, “calm down. No one has to know.”
Carefully, Sam tucks Dean’s shirt in again, buttons up his pants and straightens his spiky hair. Then, he leans in and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead.
“Come on, let’s go back,” Sam mumbles, and Dean can’t resist nosing his way along that beautiful jaw line. He really is in too far over his head, he just knows it. “I promise not to tease you any more,” Sam says, and he looks so earnest, too.
“Why don’t I believe you?” Dean asks fondly, running his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Sam’s neck. Sam shivers.
“If you don’t stop that, we’re never leaving this supply closet,” he warns, but he doesn’t sound all that concerned. Grinning and stretching, Dean slowly levers himself up off the hard tile floor.
“I am getting too damn old for this,” he mutters, watching Sam quickly adjust his uniform so it looks less like he’s just had a fantastic blow job and more like he’s just learned something. Sam chuckles at him, eyes wide and happy beneath his fringe. Dean slaps him on the ass.
“Get a move on,” he says, and Sam does, winking over his shoulder.
Charlie Scott is slumped over his desk where they’d left him, his iPod buds still firmly in his ears. Dean is proud to note, however, that at least now he’s listening to Christina Aguilera, which is certainly a step in the right direction.
Authors:
robin1618 and unamagaPairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,094
Disclaimer: We own nothing, blah, blah, playthings, blah, blah, cake.
Notes: This is part of a bigger high school AU, called Life Lessons, that Robin and I are working on in which Dean is a chemistry teacher and Sam seduces him. Trust us, you'll like it. Dean wears a labcoat.
And then there's the time Sam gets put in detention.
Dean’s waiting outside the Principal's office, wanting to talk about next week's schedule, when Sam comes walking by, Sarah in tow. He sees Dean standing there, gives him a single deadpan stare, and then wheels around and punches a guy walking the other way right in the gut.
The kid doubles up, yelling, and the Principal comes rushing out of his office. He sends Sam straight to detention, of course, which Dean just happens to be taking that day. As Sam is led away he looks back at Dean and winks at him, slow and deliberate. Sarah laughs and then heads off to class.
There's only one other kid there when Dean turns up—Charlie Scott, who's never been what you might call observant. He's got his iPod on, loud, listening to Britney Spears—don't ask. Sam's sitting in the front row of desks, his tie coming undone and his hair messy, shooting these looks at Dean over the top of his school books that makes Dean forget all about the marking he's supposed to be doing.
“Sir,” Sam says innocently, ten minutes into the detention, “could you help me with a problem?”
Without waiting for an answer, Sam’s next to Dean at the front desk, all seductive body language and cocked hips. It’s enough to have Dean hard under the desk—not that he hadn’t already been, just watching Sam sit across the aisle as that sinful mouth innocuously sucked on a pen cap.
A heavy chemistry book plunks down on the desk in front of Dean’s face, opened to a random page he doesn’t think they’ve even covered yet. Sam points to something on the fifth line with that same pen, still shiny with his spit, and Dean has to clench his fingers in his trouser legs or do something unforgivable like rip Sam’s pants down and suck him off right there.
“It’s this one,” Sam whispers, husky and low, from where’s he’s hunkered down next to Dean on his knees. He’s not looking at the text book.
“Sam, we can’t,” Dean protests weakly, but Sam’s hand is already trailing feather-light up from his knee to his inner thigh.
“So, if the atomic masses of carbon and oxygen are 12 and 16, the formula mass of CO2 is 44, am I right, sir?” Sam asks, his hand pressing against Dean’s cock with every word.
“Yes,” Dean whispers, clutching at his desk. “You’re right, Sammy. Very, very, very right, and I—”
Sam reaches up and twines one long bony hand around Dean’s own, while the other—Dean gasps and snaps the pencil he’s holding—flicks his zip open. Then Sam picks up the pen from where it’s lying and, with one wicked glance up at Dean, opens his fingers and drops it on the floor.
“Oh dear, sir, I seem to have dropped my pen,” Sam says. “I’d better look for it,” and his head bobs down into Dean’s lap.
Dean bites his own lip bloody trying to stay quiet when Sam mouths him through his cotton boxer-briefs. He can feel the sly smirk curving those lips, and Sam is so obviously pleased with himself, Dean can’t make his hands shove Sam away.
Okay, so maybe that’s not the reason, but—
“Shit,” Dean hisses as Sam’s tongue finds the slit in his underwear and slips inside. One of Sam’s huge hands comes up and pushes his thighs apart farther, while the other finally pulls Dean fully out of his underwear.
“Careful,” Sam says, pulling back to look Dean in the eye. “Wouldn’t want Mister Spears over there wondering where I’ve gone and why you’re making those faces.”
Dean clenches his jaw, about to shoot back something witty, but then Sam’s mouth is around the head of his cock and he can’t even remember what they were talking about.
It doesn’t make things any easier that Dean has to stay so fucking quiet. Here’s this kid doing the most incredible things to him, and he has to sit still and look straight ahead and act bored. Dean’s only just realizing how difficult this is going to be. He tangles his fist in Sam’s thick hair and bites down on his lower lip. Think of chemistry equations. Think of detention. Think of Sam’s tongue as he curls it around a pencil in class. Think of Sam’s wide mouth right fucking now. Oh god.
Sam’s mouth rolls slowly down Dean’s cock and he curses.
“Hah, Sammy, how are… how are you doing down there?” Dean asks, trying to seem normal, but with a shiver in his voice that’s anything but.
Sam pauses for a second and looks up at him.
“Oh, I think I’ve almost got it, sir,” he says, and he touches his tongue against Dean’s tip. It’s the thin trail of saliva left hanging between Sam’s tongue and his dick when Sam pulls back that finally clinches it.
He pushes the rolling chair back until it hits the wall with a loud crash. How loud is that kid’s music? Whatever—as long as he doesn’t look up while Dean is doing up his fly and yanking Sam out from under his desk, that’s fine. He marches Sam awkwardly from the desk to the supply closet, slamming it behind them.
And Sam’s laughing, the little bastard. Dean suddenly wishes he’d thought to bring his ruler with him to detention.
“What?” Sam taunts as soon as Dean finishes backing him up against the wall. “Too much for you, Professor?”
Dean growls, putting his hands on Sam’s shoulders and slamming them back so the vials on the shelves next to them rattle. “You are such a tease,” he says, and then he kisses Sam, hard like he’s wanted to since that punch in the hallway hours before.
Sam kisses back, even harder, and for a moment neither of them can be sure whether they’re making out or fighting. They stagger, and Sam slams Dean against a cabinet, making the papers on its top spill over and scatter all around them.
Dean tugs Sam’s tie loose and pulls his shirt open to run his tongue across the ridge of Sam’s collarbone. A button pops and Sam laughs. Dean presses the flat of his hand against his mouth to shut him up, and Sam nips at its palm, still grinning.
Then Dean’s scrabbling at Sam’s belt, half ashamed that he should need this quite as much as he does. His fingers stumble, and Sam helps him out. Even in the gloom of the supply closet Dean can see that Sam’s flushed, and they’re both panting.
By the time Dean manages to push Sam’s pants down to his knees and wriggle back out of his own, three bottles of chemicals have tipped over and four boxes of rubber gloves have found their way onto the floor. Dean nearly goes sprawling when he trips over one in his haste, but Sam catches him and they both end up somehow kneeling on the floor in front of each other.
Sam’s warm, rough hand closes around his cock again, and they’re face to face, lips touching every time one of them breathes. It’s almost enough, that very first pull, because Dean still remembers what Sam’s mouth felt like around him. His hips stutter forward, into Sam’s hand, the tip of his cock smearing across Sam’s stomach wetly.
“Look at you,” Sam says roughly, leaning into Dean. “Look at you like this—all sweaty and strung out.” He nips at Dean’s earlobe. “D’you want me?”
And that’s all it takes before Dean’s coming into Sam’s cupped hand, bowing forward with the force of his orgasm and trying really, really hard not to yell too loud.
“I guess that’s a yes, sir,” Sam says, and he lunges forward and kisses Dean on the mouth.
For a moment it occurs to Dean to be surprised at what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with, but then Sam grabs his hand and wraps it around his cock, and the world gets very hot and focused again.
He strokes his hand up and down Sam’s length, and Sam presses against him, his breath warm and damp against Dean’s neck.
“How do you like your detention, Sammy?” Dean mutters into Sam’s ear.
Sam shudders all over, gasping like this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Please,” he whimpers, shifting his hips into Dean’s grip with every stroke. “God, please, more.”
Dean takes that as an invitation and leans down to mouth along Sam’s skin. He finds a nipple with his tongue and circles around it until it’s a hard pebble and Sam’s hands are clenching at his sides. Not that he normally has a thing for virgins, but getting Sam like this, all flushed and out of control and pure, does things to him that it probably shouldn’t.
Above, he can hear Sam cursing up a storm as he speeds up his hand and bites down on that sweet, flat stomach. From the way those groans are rising in pitch, Sam knows what’s next.
“Gonna repay the favor,” Dean says, grinning like an imp and feeling like he’s maybe in control again for the first time since this whole thing started.
At least now he can say he’s being a teacher, although perhaps that joke’s in poor taste. Dean grabs hold of Sam’s hips and takes Sam’s cock into his mouth. Sam moans. The sound almost makes Dean hard again. Forgetting that they’re supposed to be quiet, he works faster, trying to make Sam’s cries louder.
“Sir,” Sam gasps, “Sir-”
God, how is the kid so damned sexy? Just the sound of his voice sends Dean into a haze of lust.
“Like that, do you?” he rasps, sliding his hands up Sam’s hips and round the small of his back. Sam grabs Dean’s hair with those huge hands of his and tilts back his head as his orgasm shoots through his body.
Sam slumps back against the shelves, panting. Dean runs his tongue up Sam’s belly, around his nipples and tracing his jaw before his lips meet Sam’s. They’re both grinning into the kiss.
“Thanks, sir,” Sam says, his mouth pressing against the hollow beneath Dean’s ear. “That really was a big help to me.”
“Glad I could be of service,” Dean replies, fighting down laughter. “If you ever need help again…”
“I think I know who to come to,” Sam finishes, teeth flashing white in the murky darkness. Dean’s mesmerized for a moment. Then, everything slams back into his brain and he realizes exactly where they are and what they’ve just done and, oh God, he could get worse than fired for this.
He scrambles back against the wall and tries to hike his pants up his legs with little success. His fingers are shaky and too big to get the button through the hole.
Sam’s hand comes down on top of his, warm and gentle. “Dean,” he says, using Dean’s given name like he never does, “calm down. No one has to know.”
Carefully, Sam tucks Dean’s shirt in again, buttons up his pants and straightens his spiky hair. Then, he leans in and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead.
“Come on, let’s go back,” Sam mumbles, and Dean can’t resist nosing his way along that beautiful jaw line. He really is in too far over his head, he just knows it. “I promise not to tease you any more,” Sam says, and he looks so earnest, too.
“Why don’t I believe you?” Dean asks fondly, running his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Sam’s neck. Sam shivers.
“If you don’t stop that, we’re never leaving this supply closet,” he warns, but he doesn’t sound all that concerned. Grinning and stretching, Dean slowly levers himself up off the hard tile floor.
“I am getting too damn old for this,” he mutters, watching Sam quickly adjust his uniform so it looks less like he’s just had a fantastic blow job and more like he’s just learned something. Sam chuckles at him, eyes wide and happy beneath his fringe. Dean slaps him on the ass.
“Get a move on,” he says, and Sam does, winking over his shoulder.
Charlie Scott is slumped over his desk where they’d left him, his iPod buds still firmly in his ears. Dean is proud to note, however, that at least now he’s listening to Christina Aguilera, which is certainly a step in the right direction.